


A Spot of Bother

by MashedMango



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, The Revenge Business AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 21:23:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20571119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashedMango/pseuds/MashedMango
Summary: An AU of WeNeedARuse's 'The Revenge Business' in which Connor O'Driscoll never died and takes refuge in Dutch's camp in a bid to escape his vicious brother. He also takes a shine to one of Dutch's associates.





	A Spot of Bother

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WeNeedARuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/gifts).

> This is basically an AU of an AU.
> 
> I just love Connor O'Driscoll and want him to be happy, ok?!

Following Connor's emotional plea to be granted refuge in Dutch's camp, he's had trouble settling in. As expected, Arthur Morgan was none too happy with this turn of events considering he was the one to rearrange the O'Driscoll's handsome features in response to his, admittedly, lewd goading. The broken, discoloured skin and hunched over posture only made his claims of Colm's wrath, subsequent to the uncovering of his betrayal, credible and appealed to Dutch's inherent compulsion to save the pitiful and downtrodden.

Worked like a charm. 

To his credit, it wasn't totally untrue - Colm did indeed sniff him out to be the rat who was feeding information to his long-time rival. Connor at least had enough sense to run before his brother had the chance to wring his neck, or worse, impulsively put a bullet in his head like he did to Connor's friend. 

His lover. 

Mid-fuck. 

That was a couple of years ago, but the young O'Driscoll remembered it as if it happened yesterday. One moment, indescribable pleasure unlike anything he'd ever experienced before... he was right to trust Liam with this: the vulnerability that comes with being fucked face down, on his belly, for the first time. 

He recalls gripping the sheets, biting back groans with every careful press of fingers and cock; how Liam stopped when he asked him to, when it was too much and he needed to catch his breath. How he kissed and nipped at the redhead's nape before leaning over to lick at the hinge of his jaw, how he stroked down the heaving muscles of his back, all in effort to help calm the younger man's nerves. 

Yes, he was right. 

And the initial discomfort was soon outweighed by the waves of rolling pleasure, the searing sensation increasing with every thrust had them both grunting and crying out. The intensity of it dulled all their other senses. They didn't hear the creak of the door. Nor the click of a weapon. 

One moment, indescribable pleasure... the next, a deafening crack of a pistol. The spray of hot blood. And then the sudden crushing slump of Liam's lifeless body along his back. Connor, pinned as he was by the shock and weight of his lover's corpse, remained prone as Colm promised he would do the same to him if he ever caught Connor acting on his unnatural proclivities again. 

Yes, Connor had double-crossed his brother by exposing his plans and indulging in this dalliance with Dutch van der Linde.

But Colm betrayed him first.

And he had explained as much, albeit a condensed version, to Dutch when the dark-haired man aired doubts about his sincerity. He just stood there and silently held his gaze for a few uncomfortable seconds; the whole exchange made even more tense by Morgan's looming presence up on the porch. 

Until Dutch finally extended his hand and Connor allowed himself a small sigh of relief before clasping it with his own. His breath caught in his throat when he was pulled sharply into the taller man's space and, for a second, his chest thudded with the lightning thought of being kissed... only, Dutch clenched his hand like a vice, moved his head to the side so his mouth was against the shell of Connor's ear, and he gave him his conditions. 

The last one being to keep his distance from Arthur. And it shouldn't have surprised him, as he'd had his own suspicions about the pair, nonetheless he felt the twinge of the implied rejection in his gut. 

As if nursing his own battered body and bruised ego wasn't enough to deal with over the few weeks since then, Connor was finding it difficult to bite his tongue in the face of Morgan's incessant jibes, making his distrust of his new campmate mightily clear - the man didn't even have enough decency to call him by his first name. Dutch didn't do much to diffuse the mounting tension either; at least not in the open but he did spy the man throwing a few stern glares in Morgan's direction, whereas Hosea treated him with a cool indifference - only exchanging pleasantries in the presence of his lady, Bessie, or to delegate the camp chores. 

Despite the benefits of having relative safety and shelter, he couldn't shake the crawling feeling of isolation - an anxiety he tried to remedy by setting off early most mornings in the hope that bringing home a decent hunt will help endear him to the small group. The women at least seem to appreciate his efforts, thanking him by way of extra servings if there's any going spare. Time away also grants him a reprieve of having to watch Dutch make eyes at Morgan from across the campfire, an expression undetectable to anyone else. 

As Connor continues on his ride through the forest he finds himself pondering, not for the first time, what is it about that bastard that has Dutch hooked? Sure, he's pretty and strong but the man is all bluster. No finesse. Guzzles beans straight from the can. 

'Disgusting'. 

Then Connor catches himself, his mind flashing the faces of the degenerates he's had in the past like a projector, and comes to the conclusion that fucking Arthur Morgan wouldn't be all that much of a hardship. 

'One day, perhaps. Once Dutch has grown tired of you'. 

He smirks at the thought and continues to entertain himself with script on how he'd go about seducing the blond, all the while meandering carefully through the trees.

Until he picks up on a faint sound of distress in the distance. A human sound. A man.

Connor dismounts and proceeds with caution, repeater at the ready, wary of what he may find. It wouldn't be the first time he's been bushwacked while trying to do the charitable thing.

He follows the sound until he comes to a steep decline of earth and brush and spots a well-dressed man caught in a bear trap at the bottom. Bloody fingers desperately prying at the contraption.

"Oh fella, that don't look good," Connor calls from the slope.

The stranger whips his head up revealing a pale, angular face. Hair flopping forward over wide, terror-filled eyes. Mouth stretched open on a gasp.

'Hm, pretty'.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, who could the pretty stranger be?! Y'all know from the tags ;) 
> 
> If you'd like to follow or say howdy just search for mashed-mango on Tumblr.


End file.
